


A Summer Dalliance, or The Secret Recollections of a Governess

by wakinginlavender



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Boss/Employee Relationship, Domestic Discipline, F/F, Incredibly flimsy excuses for kink, Large Breasts, Maids, Nonnies Made Me Do It, POV Dom, POV Sadist, Praise Kink, Sexual Repression, Slow Burn, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Victorian Attitudes, wardrobe malfunction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29699079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakinginlavender/pseuds/wakinginlavender
Summary: Miss Callista has finally engaged a new maid for her young ward. Roselinde is enthusiastic but unrefined. However, she is very willing to try out some unorthodox methods of discipline.The girl stood on the threshold, looking down at her feet. At first glance, she appeared to be well-dressed. The people that now lived in the neighbouring houses would not notice the details, but they were a heap of uncultured louts. But Callista could see every detail that was wrong. The black hair was braided neatly but without charm. The skirt hung right above the knee, so she could see a sliver of skin between the hem and the top of the girl’s stockings. And the top… Callista felt herself blush. The girl had yet to learn how to cover her generous bosom in a way that was appropriate. Her dress barely covered her chest and it looked as if an unfortunate incident was imminent. In fact, Callista was almost sure she could see half a nipple.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Repressed governess/busty maid
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. A New Arrival

Callista crossed yet another name on the list.  
She had been exactingly descriptive of what was needed and yet none of the candidates the agency had sent were in the least suitable. A dozen women had paraded across her small private parlor and she longed for a light dinner, a good cup of tea, and her soft bed. But that wouldn’t be possible if she didn’t fulfill her duty. Without more servants, the house was losing its battle against cobwebs, moths, and the stale smell of closed rooms. The elderly caretaker’s knees were so weak Elodie’s room had not been cleaned in a month.

And her charge was growing. Despite the family’s current financial troubles and penchant for scandal, Elodie remained the last heiress standing of a renowned line. A personal maid was a necessary expense if they were to keep up appearances. All she needed was an experienced lady who was well-versed in matters of propriety, fashion, and courtesy, so she would guide her mistress through the somewhat turbulent waters of polite society. And more importantly, it would have somebody with an unerring sense of right and wrong. Together, they could protect Elodie from the filth that crawled the streets.

The last candidate did not look promising. She was young, which on the positive side meant that Elodie would more readily trust her. But everything else was wrong. Firstly, she was a new arrival from inland. Tale as old as time: some dusty town slowly getting taken over and a hopeful family sending the most promising daughter to the city. No experience as a personal maid. No references other than very vague ones.

However, she was out of choices. Maybe this girl would be willing to be a mere housemaid, for lesser pay.

‘Come in,’ she said and the door opened.

The girl stood on the threshold, looking down at her feet. At first glance, she appeared to be well-dressed. The people that now lived in the neighbouring houses would not notice the details, but they were a heap of uncultured louts. But Callista could see every wrong detail. The black hair was braided neatly but without charm. The skirt hung right above the knee, so she could see a sliver of skin between the hem and the top of the girl’s stockings. And the top… Callista felt herself blush. The girl had yet to learn how to cover her generous bosom in an appropriate way. Her dress barely covered her chest and it looked as if an unfortunate incident was imminent. In fact, Callista was almost sure she could see half a nipple.

She was stunned into silence and to her utter mortification, she could not take her eyes away.

‘M-may I sit, mistress?’ the girl said and lifted her eyes. Callista could see her face clearly. It was not unpleasant: bright lilac eyes, nice features, and full lips with the barest hint of a pout. Poor girl. She would be in danger in this city.

‘… Yes, you might. What is your name, dear?’

The girl sat down and her skirt rode up, exposing her plump thighs. The more she moved, the clearer it became she was in dire need of polishing.

‘Roselinde, mistress.’

Whoever had been her master before had trained her to be obedient. That was good. It would mean she wouldn’t keep secrets from Callista.

‘Roselinde, then, I hope you understand the nature of this position.’ 

The girl nodded. ‘I haven’t been… I haven’t done it before, but I’m willing to learn, mistress.’

‘In that case, you will be getting half-pay until I deem you fit for more. Is that agreeable to you?’

‘Would I get a room?’

‘Of course! What kind of cruel mistress you take me for?’

Roselinde bit her lip. ‘Then I’m agreeable to it. Yes.’

‘May I inquire why?’

‘I do not like my current home,’ she said simply.

Callista glanced at her file. Oh, poor thing. She was in a boarding house. Those places were a breeding ground for sin and completely unsuitable for such a young, wide-eyed girl. She would show the girl where she’d sleep and that would surely convince Roselinde. Callista stood up, but the girl misunderstood. With a movement so sudden one her breasts escaped the confines of her dress, she threw herself at Callista’s legs, knelt on the ground, and looked up. 

‘Please. Mistress, I’d do anything. Please.’

‘This is a most unbecoming display of emotion. Once you start working here, you will not do this again. Is that clear?’

Roselinde sobbed. ‘Oh, you truly mean that, mistress?’ she said, taking Callista’s hands and kissing them fervently.

‘I do. Now stand up and stop this.’ The girl at least could follow an order. ‘I will show you your room now and tomorrow you can bring your things here. And…’ she lifted the top of Roselinde’s dress so her breasts would be covered. Her hands, despite her best efforts, lingered there. ‘We’ll do something about this.’

She was fatigued — her rest had been interrupted by nervousness and wicked dreams she dared not think about again. It was the weather, she was sure of it. The science was very clear about the harmful impact of miasma and Veridian’s climate was a breeding ground for it. She looked out the window and grimaced: the sky was grimy and the entire city was flooded with humidity and heat. She missed the sunny, dry summers of the capital. But Valette was lost to her, so she drank her iced tea and tried to focus on her reading, until a knock on the door distracted her.

‘Yes?’

It was Jeanette. ‘Miss Callista, the new maid is here.’ The old lady smiled, a smile devoid of any kindness. ‘Should I buy a new uniform for her?’

‘The old one will do.’

Jeanette raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She was, after all, deeply familiar with the family’s lack of funds. They could barely afford necessities. A new uniform for a maid that wouldn’t attend to guests was a frivolous waste of money. Callista put down her glass and stood up. When she opened the door, Roselinde was waiting for her. Wearing the exact same dress she had worn the day before, but with her hair pinned up. Inappropriate for a girl her age, but Callista didn’t comment on it.

‘You’re on time. That’s good. Do you have your things?’ Roselinde nodded and held up a bag. A girl of truly humble origins then. ‘I’ll show you to your room and we’ll discuss your duties.’

Callista pushed open the secret panel and she heard Roselinde gasp. The service staircase twisted upwards towards the second floor and downward towards the kitchen. She watched Roselinde go up, her breasts bouncing with each step.

‘‘I trust that Jeanette has shown the kitchen. The rest of the ground floor is none of your concern,’ Callista began saying as she climbed up the rickety stairs. ‘My room is on the second floor, in case there is ever an emergency. Keep up the pace, please. You will need to learn how to be faster.’

Roselinde’s skirt was wide enough that, from below, Callista could see her shapely thighs, her luscious buttocks and, sometimes, a flash of the hair between her legs. That girl… they needed to discuss how to be a proper maid. The last stop for the stairs was the attic.

‘I’ll introduce you to Elodie after you’ve seen your room. Please open the door to your right, Roselinde.’

The roof was low and the floor creaked with each step, but the round window let in air and light. Which was good, because it was the hotter spot in the house. Once upon a time, several maids had roomed there, like sardines in a can, but now there was only a very old iron bed, an empty trunk, and a table with a small basin. Callista had made sure it was filled with cool water, but now it was lukewarm.

‘I hope you find this to your liking. Cleaning it is one of your duties, Jeanette cannot handle it.’

Roselinde nodded and walked towards the bed. She left her bag inside the open trunk and turned around to look at Callista. ‘Is that… for me?’ she said, pointing at the black dress laying primly on the bed.

‘Yes. It’s to be your uniform. Please put it on and then we’ll go see Elodie.’

Even before Callista had finished talking, Roselinde had already taken off her dress. Every inch of her body not covered in the fabric of her undergarments was covered in the sheen of sweat. The flesh looked soft and yielding, as if it’d bruise easily. Callista knew that she had to correct Roselinde, but she didn’t dare. Not when her mouth had gone so dry and her eyes could not look away as Roselinde dampened a cloth and began rubbing it against her body. The back of her neck first, then her arms and then, the round top of her breasts.

‘I… I will wait for you on the third floor. That’s where… where Elodie’s room is,’ Callista said and hurried down the stairs. Was Roselinde getting out her stays now? Were her breasts spilling forth, laying against her stomach? Was she cleaning each part of her body, even the private places? How did her body smell? Was she wet with sweat, with heat?

No. She had to stop thinking like this. She opened the door to the third floor and entered the main hallway. The wallpaper was faded and torn up in places, the rug was marked with the empty spots of sold furniture and the art was old-fashioned, but it still held a certain air of grandeur. There were only three rooms that high: Elodie’s room in the middle, and two unused bedrooms next to it. She breathed in and then breathed out. She had to be better than this. Her duty was to be a staunch pillar of purity in a home with a checkered past. She would save Elodie, and even Roselinde, from the ravages of unchecked lust.

Roselinde tapped her on the shoulder, breaking her out of her reverie. The uniform, as feared, fitted her even worse than her own clothes. Her knees were in plain view and her neckline… it was far more than plunging. Each time she took a breath, Callista feared the dress would tear. At least the white, lacey apron covered the worst of it.

‘Your apron is not laced correctly,’ she said. ‘Turn around.’

The girl did as she was bid. She was so pliant, so eager to please, that Callista feared what Elodie could talk her into. She’d warn Roselinde later, she thought, as she tied the apron strings tight around Roselinde’s waist. The fabric was old and frayed. Would it scratch the sensitive skin of Roselinde’s chest every time she moved? She would have to keep an eye on that.

‘Come. I’ll introduce you to Elodie and then we’ll discuss your duties in my parlor.’

She knocked on Elodie’s door once and waited. Soon enough, she heard the tell-tale sound of Elodie’s delicate barefoot feet running across the carpet.

‘I will enter now,’ she announced and opened the door. Elodie was standing in the middle of the room. She was the picture of perfection, her flushed skin glowing in the warm light of the morning sun and her luscious hair cascading down her back. The shape of her perfectly formed limbs and of her dark nipples could be guessed under the pale nightgown she was wearing. Callista had tried to convince her to abandon the fabrics favored by Veridians — all as flimsy as their morals — to no avail. ‘Elodie, I wanted to introduce you to your new handmaid. Her name is Roselinde and I’m certain she will be of much help.’

‘I don’t … I don’t need a maid.’

‘We have discussed this, Elodie, and I will not tolerate any further disagreement, is that clear?’

Her charge, with a new-found sullenness, refused to answer. What had happened to the joyful, obedient young girl of just one summer ago? Growing up was turning her into a stubborn, wild young woman who needed to be tamed, like the colts her father used to raise.

‘That is clear, Miss Callista,’ Elodie said and curtsied once. The mockery was evident, but Callista chose to let it slide for now. Just one week before, she had lost her temper in a most dreadful manner. She could not let the child think she could play with her. She’d be a cold guiding hand, as it was proper.

‘Then, please, introduce yourself, Roselinde.’

Oh, Callista needed to stop overestimating the education of the Veridian underclasses. When Roselinde took a step forward and curtsied, she did so with such clumsiness she almost toppled over. Callista’s own body stopped her fall and she was never so grateful for the thick fabric of her clothes than now. Yes, they were horrid for the heat, but she could not bear to think about how Roselinde’s body would have felt against hers if she had been wearing a Veridian dress. She grabbed Roselinde by the shoulders and pushed her away.

‘Roselinde, that was… In other circumstances, you would be punished for such clumsy antics.’

The maid hugged herself. Her eyes were wide and dewy, like a doe’s when it saw its hunter for the first time. ‘In other circumstances, Mistress?’

‘It’s your first day today. Nervousness is understandable, but I will not take any further mistakes lightly.’

‘I understand, Mistress. I’ll be good. Better.’ Her lips parted, as if she were to ask another question, but she said nothing.

‘If… Elodie, please return to your room. Roselinde will be up with your breakfast shortly.’ The girl closed the door with the appropriate celerity and Callista turned towards the stairs. ‘Follow me, Roselinde. We still have much to discuss.’

Callista did not look back as she went down the main staircase. It was not necessary: Roselinde followed, a few steps behind. Her previous mistress had taught her that, even if the rest of Roselinde’s training left much to be desired. Through no fault of her own, Roselinde lacked the refinement a servant needed to be unseen, unheard, and indispensable. It would Callista’s duty, then, to broaden her horizons and to curb the worst excesses of her disposition.

Her parlor had been, a long time ago, the master of the house’s private studio, but the Sapphire Seas had swallowed him when Elodie was a mere child. So now Callista reigned there, in a small haven of sturdy furniture, edifying books, and sedate art. She sat down on her favorite chair and stared at Roselinde. The girl was squirming in place, most likely unsure of how to behave. She waited in silence. Would Roselinde open her mouth to inquire about her duties? Or would she endure the mortification?

‘Please, Mistress,’ the girl said, with a slight trembling voice. ‘What do I have to do?’

‘Oh, dear. Always remember this: you do not speak unless spoken to. Is that clear?’ Roselinde nodded and looked down at her feet. ‘Sit down now. I shall explain my expectations of you and your duties. Please do not interrupt me.’

The explanation was swift and quick, since Callista did not waste words and the nature of the duties was simple enough: taking care of Elodie in the way Jeannette no longer could.

‘Do you have any further questions?’

‘Will I be bringing you your meals too, Mistress?’

Callista had not considered that. The truth of the matter is that she often fetched her own meals when Jeannette was incapable or unwilling to do so. She was, after all, a companion, not the actual mistress of the house. But who could blame her for making her life more convenient? She could then focus her attention on Elodie’s education and introduction to society.

‘Only breakfast and tea. You will deliver them to this room after Elodie’s. Now, Roselinde, your last duty is the most important of them all: Elodie cannot be allowed to leave the house. Her frail constitution, sadly, does not allow for it.’

‘Not even to the garden?’

Callista shook her head. The garden was an overgrown wilderness that was visible from the street. The prying eyes of the neighbourhood could not be allowed to rest upon Elodie’s beauty. The harsh sun and the vapours from the sea also affected Elodie’s health, for the worse. 

‘Not even to the garden. We do visit the Temple upon the Cliff once a week, of course, and follow all proper rites. You are expected to join us.’

Roselinde, for the first time since she had arrived, smiled. It lit up her face, giving her a vivacious expression that was rather pleasant. ‘Oh, thank you so much, Mistress. I was afraid I wouldn’t have the time.’

‘Hm. You keep your faith then?’

‘Inland, we all do, Mistress. Viridiana will devour us if we don’t.’

That was unfortunate but expected. Of course, the girl was a heretic. ‘Viridiana ascended to the stars, Roselinde. She can hardly devour anybody.’ Roselinde frowned in confusion. ‘Do not talk about these superstitions to Elodie.’

‘I-I understand, Mistress. It won’t happen again.’

‘See, we also need to discuss how you will act. You must remember your actions reflect on the entire family.’ Callista paused until Roselinde nodded. She stood up and walked towards the girl. ‘Do not speak, unless spoken to. Do not discuss personal matters with Elodie. Be demure and calm at all times. Keep your clothes neat and tidy.’

‘But…’

‘Your present state is not fitting,’ Callista said and took a strand of Roselinde’s hair between her fingers. It was silky and smooth. She wondered, idly, what it would smell like. ‘Tomorrow morning, I shall braid your hair correctly and I will show you how to properly wear those stays. I promise you that after a few months of service, you will be an obedient, polished handmaid.’

‘Mistress… and what if I… make mistakes? Like today with the curtsy?’ Roselinde said, with her bright eyes open and fixed on Callista’s.

‘Then, my dear, you shall be punished.’

‘Oh, no, Mistress. I cannot afford it. My previous mistress, she’d dock my wages and…’

That was after all the custom. But there were newer methods, scientific methods, under study in the capital. Callista had read several treatises about them. There were more efficient, even if they were yet to be accepted by the mainstream, and less cruel than taking part of the wages. As Callista knew very well, many masters would invent mistakes so they would not have to pay their servants in full. An abdication of their duty that left everybody worse off.

She turned around, suddenly overtaken by emotion. Her were trembling and she felt short of breath. It was understandable — this was a unique opportunity to show that even the most uneducated person could be reformed, after all.

‘We… There are alternatives. You see, there are new ways of thinking, in the capital, about how to correct wayward servants,’ she said, standing behind Roselinde. The girl did not look back. Her nape was uncovered and her neck was, despite everything, exquisite.

‘And I’d be paid In full?’

‘Yes. But you’d still be punished.’ She put her hands on Roselinde’s shoulders. This was the moment of truth and she hoped the girl would not misunderstand her proposal. ‘In a physical manner.’

It was as if even the air and the sunlight coming in through the window had stayed still. Callista dared not move. What she was asking for was a novelty and many whispered it was a wanton perversion of discipline. But those were the voices that stalled progress. Would Roselinde understand? Or would she denounce Callista? Veridians were so against austerity, after all.

Roselinde looked up. Gone was her joyful expression, replaced by a determined look. There was no doubt in her manner, no trembling in her voice when she spoke.

‘Yes.’

A simple word, but one that made Callista take a step back. She had not expected such simplicity. ‘Are… If you’re not sure…’

‘I am sure. But… the rules. There will be no new rules? Only the ones you mentioned?’

Callista was on the brink of laughter. To have such luck! A chance to prove the new methods. She could barely contain her impulses: she wanted to take the girl into her arms and kiss her brow, telling her how proud she was. But it wasn’t the moment, not yet.

‘Yes, yes, my dear, of course. If a new rule were to come up, I would inform you first. Without clear limits, discipline is mere tyranny.’ She began rummaging inside the master’s desk. She had seen… yes. There it was: a bottle of Vermillian brandy. She would drink it after lunch, as a treat. ‘The punishments will fit the offense, as well. There will be no arbitrariness. No cruelty.’

Roselinde frowned. She looked pretty, like that: her eyes downcast, her lips pursed, her brow creased. ‘Mistress, can you show me?’ she asked, finally.

‘Show you what, Roselinde?’

‘The punishment.’

‘Do you regret saying yes? Because if you do…’

The girl shook her head. ‘I need to know what to expect.’

This was unorthodox. Roselinde had yet to earn a punishment, but at the same time, Callista did not want to lose the opportunity. It could be excused.

‘In that case, then come here, Roselinde.’

Such obedience: Roselinde stood up in one fluid movement and walked towards the desk. There was no hesitation and her eyes didn’t leave the floor.

‘Now, this is the first time, so I will be lenient. Remember, if your offense is grave enough, I… the punishment will be swift and harsh. Is that clear?’

‘Yes. What do I do?’

Endless possibilities unfurled in Callista’s mind, but in the books she had read, scholars recommended to begin with spanking. It was a common punishment people were familiar with and it wasn’t brutal. More painful methods were reserved for later parts of the process or more difficult cases.

‘Lean on the desk the desk.’

Roselinde did so. Her posture was almost perfect for the situation, but it needed a few corrections. First, she pushed Roselinde’s shoulders down. Once she was satisfied, Callista ran her hands down the girl’s chest and pushed it back. It was softer than Callista had imagined — would it be sensitive? Could that be used in some way? Her hands slid down to Roselinde’s hips and pushed them out, so her bottom would be sticking out.

‘It is important, for this to work, that your skin is exposed,’ she said. The humiliation was a crucial element of the method, but so was skin-to-skin contact: it encouraged closeness and trust between mistress and servant. She lifted Roselinde’s skirt first and the girl didn’t even flinch. It was reassuring to see the commitment. She untied her drawers so they’d fall down to the floor. When they did, Roselinde spread her legs wider. The view took Callista’s breath away: Roselinde’s buttocks were round and soft, the skin was flawlessly smooth. Yes. This was necessary, because the girl’s generous body was lust personified. Callista would have to shield her from the lascivious men outside and teach her how to resist their advances.

With trepidation, she gave the first slap. Roselinde shifted forward, but she said nothing. Not even a yelp. Callista’s hand was now marked on her skin. There was a second slap and then a third. Callista was short of breath now and her cheeks flushed with effort, but she persevered. All she could hear in the stillness was the sound of her hand hitting Roselinde’s yielding flesh and the quiet moans coming out from the girl’s mouth. Her breasts would sway back and forth with each hit, almost getting out of her dress, and her eyes were closed.

Callista’s body was consumed with heat as if her blood were boiling. She had to… She had never felt like this, not even when punishing Elodie. It was so different now that there was no petulant resistance. She did not know if she’d able to stop, but she had to. This was supposed to be a mere taste. That is, just a demonstration. The punishments would lose their effectiveness if they were commonplace. She stopped her hand mid-air.

‘That… I hope that was enough. Get… get dressed.’

The girl pulled down her skirt, but her expression was confused. ‘Mistress, did I do something wrong?’

This was why it was inadvisable to give unearned punishment. It would confuse the subjects.

‘No. Not at all. You were good. So very good.’ Gratification overtook her then: she took Roselinde in her arms. A mistake, but one she would not take back, not when Roselinde’s arms twisted around her waist and her head rested against Callista’s chest. How could Callista fail, then, to kiss her hair and pull her even closer to her bosom? ‘In… in fact, you were so good, I’ll give you a reward.’

‘What reward?’

Callista’s eyes fell upon the brandy bottle. Roselinde had looked at it, she thought. ‘Today, after your duties are done and Elodie is in bed, you will come here and we will toast to your new education.’

Roselinde’s laughter, as it turned out, was gentle and sweet, just as the girl’s disposition in general. ‘That sounds swell. My previous mistress did not let me drink.’

She put her hand on Roselinde’s chin and made her look up. ‘If you behave, there will be other rewards. Rewards of my choosing… unless... Well, if you do very well, you can choose your own reward.’

‘Oh, mistress, you’re so generous,’ Roselinde said. She put her arms around Callista’s neck, looking almost coquettish. ‘And what can I ask for?’

Callista was never a woman given to generosity, but now, it surged from her chest, unbidden and unbridled.

‘ _Anything_.’

It was with the utmost regret that Callista loosened her embrace. It had been such an advance in so little time: the trust between them was tangible and Roselinde’s desire to please was… It was intoxicating to a degree that Callista feared. This was a serious matter, not some trifling game.

The clock struck 9 o’clock and it echoed across the empty house. Elodie would be demanding her breakfast soon.

‘Go… You will find the breakfast in the kitchen. Take it up to Elodie,’ she said, finally letting Roselinde leave her arms.

‘And when she’s done, I will help her dress, so she can join you for her classes,’ Roselinde recited, and then she laughed again. ‘I know my duties. I won’t disappoint you, Mistress.’

She took a step back and curtsied, still smiling. This time she did not stumble, but it was still lacking gracefulness. She turned around and hurried out of the parlor. It was obvious in her step that her buttocks still hurt. Callista watched her climb up the stairs, thanking the stars for Elodie’s innocence. Lesser minds would have drawn bafflingly wrong conclusions from Roselinde’s mussed hair, rosy cheeks, and rumpled clothes.

And what was worse, Callista’s state was no better: when she turned around to see herself in the mirror, she was dismayed. Her skin was reddened and covered in sweat, her up-do was undone, and even her dress was wrinkled. At least there was enough time before her first class with Elodie to refresh herself and fix her hair. But putting her tumultuous thoughts into order was a different matter entirely.

She remained unable to concentrate on anything else but the planned reward even while she was teaching Elodie. The girl was less mulish than usual, which helped, since Callista could trust her to work on her assignments without constant vigilance.

‘So, Elodie, pray tell me, how was Roselinde?’

Elodie raised her head and smiled. It was a sincere smile. ‘Oh, Miss Callista: you were right! I needed a maid. It was so nice, being able to talk to somebody.’

‘Hm, what did you discuss?’ It was good that Elodie was now reconciled to Roselinde’s presence, but she would have to keep an eye on their conversations. Any undue closeness could become a problem — Roselinde had to be loyal to the interests of the family, not to Elodie’s capricious whims.

‘We talked about my dresses and the house, that’s all. Roselinde asked about the garden. It reminded her of her home. Did you know that she’s from inland?’

‘ _Of course_ I know, Elodie, I hired her. Do you think I’m so neglectful I wouldn’t check her references?’

Elodie flinched and pouted. ‘That is not what I meant. I apologize, Miss Callista.’

Callista would usually chastise her for such expressions, but… in truth, she could see it was only a young woman’s curiosity and inexperience, not rudeness. 

‘I… No. I am the one that should apologize. I was rude. It won’t happen again.’ There was disbelief written all over Elodie’s face. ‘A lady ought to apologize when she has erred. That includes me.’

Elodie nodded and went back to her book. The class continued without any further incident and the only relevant happening at lunch was the on-going matter of Roselinde’s dress being ill-fitting. Each time she’d lean over the table to serve food, her breasts would move closer to the edge. Callista had spent the entire lunch fearing an embarrassing incident, unable to tear her eyes away from Roselinde’s chest, but it did not come to pass. However, by the time she was serving Callista her tea, an entire nipple was visible. Elodie was no longer there: she had disappeared into the library as soon as she had been allowed to do so. So Callista was now free to bring the matter up.

‘Roselinde, please stay there while I fix your dress,’ she said, putting down her cup. Roselinde did as she was told. Callista put her hands on Roselinde’s breasts and noted, with a bit of trepidation, that her hands could not begin to cover them. Grateful that the girl had closed her eyes, she put them back into the dress, slowly and gently. She did not wish it to be painful. It was, after all, not Roselinde’s fault.

‘Now go help Jeanette with the cleaning.’ Roselinde nodded but did not leave. ‘Is there anything else you need to tell me?’

‘About… is tonight… will I still get my reward tonight?’

Callista was startled into laughing. She caressed Roselinde’s face. ‘Of course. I don’t go back on my word.’

Roselinde bowed and scurried back into the kitchen. She was still walking as if in pain — Callista would have to check if her bottom was healing properly.

The afternoon passed in much the same manner as the morning had: a daze of routine and distraction. Elodie was already much improved, happily chatting during tea and going to her room after that without protest. Even Jeanette was all smiles — although her smiles were sardonic and mocking. It was as if she knew something Callista didn’t. It was unsettling and Callista vowed to discover whatever she was hiding. She had promised Lady Augusta she’d protect Elodie in her absence, after all. She dared not disappoint her patroness, not after her generosity and not if she ever wanted to return to Valette. 

But that was the past and the past was of no importance. She had rather more pleasant matters to think about. Anticipation made it impossible to concentrate on her novel — a rather invigorating retelling of the Subjugation of Vermillia. The prose was simple and unsophisticated, but so vibrant that even maybe Roselinde would enjoy it. She would ask later. Oh, how she hoped ‘later’ would come soon! It was very important to know how Roselinde felt about her punishment, to track her sensations and attitudes.

The sun had set by the time Callista heard three knocks on the door.

‘Come on in, don’t be shy,’ she said.

And then Roselinde was there, standing in the middle of the parlor and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her hair was loose, and she had taken off her apron. She was the picture of demureness: eyes downcast, hands clasped behind her back, her entire posture showing her obedience. All she was missing to be a perfect maid was a bit of polish.

‘Please lean against the desk, I need to… we need to check if you are healing properly.’ 

‘Of course, Mistress.’

Seeing the girl with her legs spread and her bottom raised filled Callista with ideas for future correction. Could this mean the riding crops she had brought from the farm would see use? It was, yes, slightly untoward to hope a servant would make mistakes, but Callista had higher goals than simply teaching Roselinde. This was for…

‘Mistress, are you coming? I’m waiting.’

Roselinde was looking over her shoulder. The impish smile on her lips was shockingly appealing.

‘I will go when I want to, Roselinde. I make the rules, not you.’

‘I’m sorry, Mistress, I will wait then,’ Roselinde answered with a chastised voice. The pout was excessive, and it made look her full lips look sinful and delectable. This newfound naughty attitude was something to fix, but it did not merit a harsh punishment yet.

Instead, Callista continued to sit in silence. Roselinde fidgeted, but she remained in place. Every second that passed amplified the visceral satisfaction of watching the girl follow Callista orders like that. What a marvelous success. Eventually, Roselinde’s posture began to flag and Callista tired of the tactic. She sauntered over to the desk and pulled Roselinde’s skirts up. To her delight — Roselinde was turning to be such a thoughtful girl —, there were no undergarments. Roselinde’s skin was no longer flawless: there were now light bruises across her buttocks and even the clear mark of Callista’s hand was visible. She pressed her hand against that mark. Roselinde moaned.

‘Does it hurt, my dear? Did it hurt today while you worked?’ 

‘Yes, Mistress. I felt it, every time I moved, every time I sat down. But…’

The girl fell into silence. But Callista knew that for the method to work, she had to know exactly how Roselinde felt about every part of the process. She tugged on Roselinde’s hair. ‘But what? You need to be truthful.’

‘But it reminded me to behave. To be a good girl.’

That was… novel information. It hadn’t been mentioned in the books Callista had read. How many new insights could be gained from this? Such an exciting venture.

‘Oh, Roselinde, that is good. That is so good. See? That’s what we want to nurture: your desire to please, to be of service. You will be such a docile, polished maid when I’m done with you.’

‘And what else are you going to do with me tonight, Mistress?’

Callista’s hand pressed on Roselinde’s buttocks again. There was a high-pitched yelp and then panting.

‘Hm. I will put some ointment on your buttocks. It will help with the pain.’

She had sent Jeanette out to get it: the old woman swore by its healing capabilities. When she opened it, it inundated the room with the fresh fragrance of peppermint. She applied it carefully, stroking down the curve of Roselinde’s bottom with and then moving up again. It was, indeed, as soft and delicate as it looked. And just to be thorough, because sometimes muscle soreness spread, once or twice she slid her hand between Roselinde’s legs and made sure her inner thighs were also covered in ointment. Roselinde didn’t seem to mind the intrusion, since she spread her legs more. In fact, she let Callista tend to her sore bottom without one word of complaint. Once she was satisfied with her work, Callista wiped her hands on Roselinde’s dress.

‘Does it feel any better?’

‘Mistress, it feels so much better.’

She remained still, as if waiting for… Oh, she was waiting for permission. What a delight. ‘You can move now, Roselinde.’

The girl relaxed and turned around. ‘Thank you, Mistress. Will I get my reward now?’ she said, looking up at Callista.

‘It’s unseemly to be so forward, Roselinde,’ Callista replied and, without thinking about it, pinched the cushy underside of Roselinde’s left breast. The squeal confirmed Roselinde had understood her lesson. This could part of the method when quick reminders were needed. ‘But yes. You will get your reward now.’

She had prepared everything earlier, so she quickly poured two glasses of brandy. The amber liquid smelled amazing. It would have been a pity to let it waste away in a drawer.

‘To our newfound society,’ she said, raising her glass to Roselinde.

‘To… to Mistress,’ Roselinde said in response and gulped down the brandy in one go. Slowly, she licked her lips when she was finished. ‘That was delicious, Mistress.’

Callista drank it slowly, savoring each sip and not taking her eyes off Roselinde as the girl wandered around the parlor, touching each ornament and staring at each painting. She would let her, just for today.

‘Well, now go to sleep. We have a long day ahead tomorrow.’

Roselinde put down the ornate vase she was admiring and stared at Callista, unblinking. ‘… to my room?’

‘Where else?’

‘We’re done here? You don’t want anything else from me?’

‘Yes. Your working day is over. You can rest now.’ There was an odd reticence in Roselinde’s expression, even as she began leaving the room. Interesting that she was already so attached. ‘But maybe tomorrow…’

Roselinde turned around and smiled at Callista. ‘Yes, Mistress?’

‘Tomorrow I will read to you after your work.’ Roselinde’s face fell but she recovered quickly. It was understandable: she had never enjoyed the pleasure of reading, most likely. ‘Now go. I have to rest too.’

As she watched Roselinde stumble up the stairs, Callista felt strangely bereft, but also full of joy and satisfaction. Roselinde had been such a great find and they were going to do such great work together.

She truly couldn’t wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Veridian, in the lazy moments before sunrise, was much more tolerable than under the scorching midday sun. The sea breeze came in through the windows, rejuvenating their sleeping inhabitants, and the streets were blissfully empty. Watching the city shining under the pale light of dawn, she could be fooled into believing in the famed Veridian enchantment. But Callista had been there for too long. She knew it to be an illusion — the city was rotting from the inside out, like the house, like the Veridians themselves.

She stepped away from the window and closed the curtains. For the second night in a row, she had been unable to rest well: she had awoken tangled up in damp sheets, still panting from a mirage she could not remember. Downstairs, Jeanette prepared breakfast and outside, people were waking up. It was time, then. Clad only in her nightgown — she was too light-headed to get properly dressed —, she climbed up the service stairs.

Inside her attic, Roselinde slept. From the way her limbs were spread and her face was relaxed, it was apparent her dreams had not been plagued by the same ghosts as Callista’s. That was reassuring — the girl remained innocent and not harassed by desires too dark to name. She did not wish to wake her when she was sleeping so peacefully, but it was late already.

‘Roselinde,’ she whispered. ‘Please wake up.’

It was enough to make Roselinde stir and open her eyes. Her eyes glanced around the room until she saw Callista standing on the threshold.

‘Mistress?’

Callista stepped into the room and then… then Roselinde _smiled_. A sunny, satisfied smile that lit up her entire pretty face and cut through like Callista like a knife. Nobody was ever happy to see her, not like that, not so openly. She could not speak, for words had abandoned her.

‘I knew you’d come. I was waiting,’ Roselinde said.

Waiting for her? Yes. She had told Roselinde she’d come, that much was true. Roselinde laughed and sat up on the bed. The movement was too much for her loose nightgown: the front slid down and revealed her round, full breasts. It was as if the sunlight caressed them, as if she were a woodland nymph startled out of her dreams by an unsuspecting hunter.

‘What are you waiting for?’

Words stumbled out of Callista’s mouth. ‘I… Yes. I’ll go and braid your hair first. Then I can show you how to wear your stays.’

Roselinde’s shoulders dropped, but her smile didn’t flag. ‘Oh. Yes. I need to be properly taught.’

With the rustic grace of a gazelle, she turned around and knelt in the bed, but failed to fix her nightgown. Her back was completely exposed, down to the curve of her buttocks. Whoever kissed that back for the first time, whoever was lucky enough to wake up to such beauty, would be unworthy of it.

‘Mistress?’ Roselinde asked, but did not look over her shoulder. That was a blessing: Callista knew that her longing showed plainly on her face.

‘Yes. I’m coming.’

She crossed the room so quickly she couldn’t remember doing it. Almost automatically, her fingers began braiding Roselinde’s long, soft hair. It was well taken care of: no tangles, no grease, no foul odour. She explained how to properly braid it while her mind wandered in a haze of ancient landscapes filled with bucolic shepherdesses, enchanted poets, and ripe fruit.

‘See? This is how it’s done. Now, get dressed. I’ll show you how to… how to wear the stays.’

Roselinde didn’t need any more instructions. She leapt out of bed, leaving her nightgown laying on the mattress. The sun shone brightly now, as brightly as Roselinde’s beauty did. Her body was plump and inviting. Everything was tempting: how her naked breasts rested on her chest, how her buttocks curved, how her thighs ended in a dark patch of thick hair.

No. This was not… She could not do this again. She _would_ not do this again. She picked up the stays.

‘Please put on your chemise,’ she said and she was proud of how her voice did not waver.

There was no objection, but first Roselinde again cleaned herself with a wet cloth. As it tortuously went over each inch of skin, Callista rubbed the side of the stays. Soon Roselinde was in front of Callista, freshly washed and still smiling. She had not stopped smiling ever since Callista had woken her. Callista raised her hand but stopped herself in time.

Without a word, she put the stays around Roselinde’s waist. The girl looked up and her smile became sweeter, more intimate. Callista couldn’t look away from those bewitching eyes and the barely parted lips, but she did not need to: she had done this many times. She began lacing the stays. Roselinde’s breathing hitched, but she knew it was not the lacing. How could it be, when Callista’s own breath was hitching too? None of them spoke, trapped in a newfound complicity.

By the time the lacing was done, her hands were trembling. Without looking down, she put her hands on Roselinde’s breasts. When her fingers brushed one of the nipples, it hardened and Roselinde gulped. Yet they remained in silence, even as Callista made sure Roselinde’s breasts were properly supported by the stays.

‘See? Now it’s better, isn’t it?’ she said. She looked aside, but she did not move her hands.

‘It… it feels better, Mistress.’

Roselinde leaned forward and Callista took a step back. ‘I… you can do the rest on your own, I’m sure.’

‘I can, yes, Mistress,’ she said. Without saying another word, she began digging in her bag and did not stop until she had produced a small pouch. ‘Do you use these in Valette, Mistress?’

Callista tilted her head and took it. It was soft and it smelled of sweet, fresh mint and lemon. ‘What is it for? Its fragrance is beautiful.’

Roselinde playfully grabbed it and buried it inside her cleavage. ‘It’s perfume, Mistress. An old Veridian trick.’

Oh, so then Roselinde’s skin would smell of meadows and summer. This knowledge was not welcome nor needed. ‘I… see. That’s smart.’

‘I can make one for you if you want. Jasmine, maybe? You have jasmine in the garden and it’s elegant and graceful, like you,’ Roselinde said, her voice muffled as she put on her dress.

‘That… if you want, yes. Of course.’

Roselinde twirled, finally dressed. Far from hiding her curves, her breasts were now perkier and even more delectable. Callista, again, was out of words. Roselinde didn’t seem to mind.

‘But you’re still not dressed yourself. Do you need my help?’

‘No! I can… I can dress myself. Please hurry up.’

She rushed down the stairs and did not stop until she reached her own room. The curtains were still drawn and she rested against the door, panting. Her hand slid up her thighs but before she could give her body what it yearned, she dug her nails into her flesh. The pain startled her out of whatever state she had been in.

She would not give in to her instincts. She was a woman of Valette, not some Vermillian slattern, and she would not let lust rule her.

By the time she entered her private parlor, much of her turmoil had abated and whatever remained of it did not show in her expression. Her lessons with Elodie were a welcome distraction and she even had the pleasure to visit her favorite bookstore in the afternoon. She was organizing her new acquisitions when there was a dock on the door. Callista sat up upright and stared at the window. The sun was setting and the boats were coming in from Broken Bay. It was a picturesque scene.

‘Please come in,’ she said.

‘I’m here for the reading, Mistress.’

The honeyed tone of Roselinde’s voice drew Callista’s eyes to the girl. While she looked more put together now, there was simply no way of hiding the natural sensuality of Roselinde’s body. Any man, watching her walk with those swaying hips and those bouncing breasts, would attempt to have her. How could they avoid it, when seeing her once was enough to dream of her soft skin, her pleading voice, and the wetness between her leg?. Every lascivious dream that Callista’s feverish mind had concocted rushed back: Roselinde, wriggling in her bed, desperately moaning. Her hard nipples straining against the fabric of her nightgown. Her thighs covered in bites. The taste of her sex.

She pinched her leg, trying to distract her mind from such thoughts. ‘Please sit wherever you want.’

Roselinde blushed and looked aside. ‘I’d rather not sit down, Mistress.’

Callista’s brow furrowed in confusion. Such insolence. ‘And why would that be?’ she said, standing up from her seat. If she had to punish her for a second time, she would not hesitate.

‘After yesterday… it still hurts.’

‘I’m…’ The memory of what had happened just the day before on that desk discomfited her. ‘You might stay standing up… or you might lie down since I presume you’re tired.’

The girl was smart enough to take Callista’s suggestion. She picked the plushiest of the sofas and lay there, face down. Her skirt rode up and Callista could see the top of her stockings from where she was standing. It would be so simple to pull the skirt the rest of the way up and examine each bruise on the buttocks, each inch of those thighs. But she could not.

Instead, she sat opposite Roselinde and opened the book on her lap. ‘I assume you’re familiar with Vermillia’s story. This is a retelling of the Subjugation, very popular in the capital right now.’

‘The Subj…? You mean the Taking of Vermillia?’ the girl said, with sudden interest.

‘Yes. That’s another name for it. So you do know the story… That’s good. I’ll start now if you don’t mind.’

She decided to skip the pages upon pages describing naval battles and military strategy. She could not fathom why people were interested in that — ancient history was fascinating, but Callista had always preferred the human side of it. The endless, dramatic entanglements and the drastic decisions people took, that was what she loved about history.

As she described the breaching of the walls, Roselinde’s eyes shone with interest and she swung her legs up in the air. It was very charming in a girlish way, even if it meant her skirt kept riding up. She would discuss it later, but now it was too enjoyable to stop. Roselinde would laugh at the sardonic asides of the author and ask pertinent questions. Nothing at all like Elodie’s silent attention whenever she was read to.

Night had already begun when they reached the ending — the city taken, Viridiana demanding the city’s surrender and the queen as her prisoner.

‘ _The Council acquiesced: how many sons of the city had been lost to the folly of one? How many daughters wept for husbands who never return and how many mothers stared at the ashes of what had been her homes and were now ruins?_

_When dawn broke over the blood-stained walls of Vermillia, the queen was delivered to the invaders’ camp. No longer wore she the richest brocade and her hair braided with the brightest jewelry She wore now the only appropriate attire for a wanton temptress that had led a city into madness: blood and bruises upon her naked skin, heavy chains around her delicate neck and her exquisite wrists, mud and sweat covering her rotund breasts and her moist sex._ …’

Roselinde gasped and Callista felt her cheeks redden. She had been so taken with the words she hadn’t thought of the vulgarity. Ever since she was a child, the Subjugation had been one of her favorite subjects. What a striking image — the kneeling queen, the powerful conqueror, the army thirsty for victory but sick of war.

‘In poetry, certain leeway is allowed. But rest assured, this type of language would be in bad taste otherwise.’ She rushed forward. Roselinde hadn’t said anything else, but her breathing was shallower, quicker. ‘ _The queen knelt, defeated, but her arrogance not yet broken. Her head was held high, even in defeat. But even if she had been second only to an empress, her pride would be for nothing, for it was now that empress who looked down on her. Viridiana was a capricious woman, given as much to mercy as to cruelty, and the Harlot’s fate was yet to be decided._

_‘You swore loyalty to me, undying and absolute, but yet you betrayed me. I should punish you. I should bite you until you bleed, cut you until you scar, lash you until you faint. My army should mount you one by one and you should kiss my feet until you are no longer proud.’ Her hands tangled in the Harlot’s loose hair and raised her face. ‘But I will not. I will grant you the greatest of cruelties, to you who granted me the cruelest kindness._

_I shall grant you mercy.’_

She closed the book, satisfied. ‘Such a good story, always.’

‘Is it done? That’s not how it ends,’ Roselinde replied. She was frowning.

‘Well, we all know how it ends,’ Callista said, resting the book on her lap. ‘But even if it is very inspiring, not many people want to read about the Harlot Queen living out her remaining days in the first Abbey.’

‘But the kiss… the kiss is missing,’ Roselinde said. Her easy, pleasant manner was gone. Suddenly, she stood up. Her skirt fell down and covered her knees, her thighs. Callista did not at all feel disappointed.

‘There was no kiss, only forgiveness.’

‘But all the songs say the same: at the feet of Vermillia’s blood-stained walls, the empress kissed her again after so many years of struggle, and found that the sweet taste of the queen’s lips had not yet soured.’

Callista was so startled that the book slid down her lap and landed with a thud on the floor. How alarming that a girl as young as Roselinde knew of the spurious hymns and the suppressed heresies. But not surprising, considering she came from. Who knew what sordid rites she had been exposed to, lost in the wooded ravines and forgotten valleys of inland Veridian?

‘That is not correct. I assure you, there was no kiss.’

‘And no trial?’ Roselinde said. With no warning, she knelt before Callista and picked up the book from the floor. Her fingers caressed the spine, her eyes remained fixed on Callista’s face. ‘In this book, the queen does not offer to prove her loyalty again? Doesn’t she kiss Viridiana’s feet hundreds of times? Her back never turns red with blood and Viridiana’s slender, elegant fingers never press down on the queen’s fragile neck?’

To hear those details from such beautiful lips was madness. She had tried, so many times, to condemn each one of those words to oblivion, ever since she had heard them at school. How she wanted to forget those old musty books hidden away but given new life; to forget that secret corner in their room; to forget the insistent, sultry voice next to her ear, telling her everything the queen had to go through over and over again.

She snatched the book from Roselinde’s hands.

‘Many times, travelling musicians add lurid embellishments to their songs. Vulgar, uncultured people, then, are more likely to pay for their services. Of course, Viridiana’s forgiveness was too pure for them, too boring. And so, they invented that… that filth.’

‘It is not filth! So our songs lie? Is that what you’re saying?’ Roselinde said, putting her hands on top of Callista’s. She tugged, trying to grab the book, but Callista resisted. She had grown so used to Elodie’s languid indifference about Imperial history and the sacred stories that it was strange to see such vehemence and even stranger to see such hurt in her eyes, as if they were not arguing about dust and ashes.

‘Yes. Those are lies. And it is filth.’

‘And your book says the truth?’

‘It’s not just this book. It’s many books which you’d know if you had read them instead of listening to crude songs.’

The girl pushed away from Callista’s lap. ‘Of course I haven’t. I cannot read.’

The confession humbled Callista. Such ignorance and here was Callista, judging her even when she had been like her once. Her escape from a life of obscurantism and drudgery had been pure luck. Although sometimes she questioned her fortune, marooned as she was in a city that was slowly poisoning her, she could not have remained at the farm. If she had, she would be married by now, tied for life to some uncouth lout with no passion for songs, no love for learning.

Was that the fate that Roselinde was escaping from, maybe?

‘I shall teach you then,’ she said, with a grimace. A sudden throbbing in her temple meant a headache was sure to develop during the night. It was this damned city and its damned heat, she knew it.

‘You… to read? You’d teach _me_ to read?’

‘Yes, why not? It is not an arcane art. I’m sure you’ll manage to learn very quickly.’

She pinched her brow as if it would stop her headache from coming in.

‘Mistress, but I… do you feel well?’

‘Just a hint of a headache.’

‘I see,’ Roselinde said and crawled closer. ‘Is it because we argued? If you were calmer, it wouldn’t hurt, right?.’

‘That is true, but I don’t know how you can help.’

‘Well, I can help you be more relaxed,’ Roselinde whispered and put her hands on Callista’s knees. They were warm, and Callista’s legs spread before she even noticed it. ‘I’m very good at massages. I could work on your back. That would make you feel better, wouldn’t it?’

Oh, thank the stars. She could breathe again. ‘Oh. Yes. That could… but only if you want. This is not part of your duties.’

‘Well, teaching me how to read isn’t part of yours either. So it’s fair I do something for you in return. I don’t enjoy charity.’

The smile on Roselinde’s face was positively shining. So reassuring, to see somebody so eager for knowledge, so ready to better herself.

‘It is a deal then,’ she replied, extending her hand. Roselinde shook it with more enthusiasm than care. It was delightful.

‘A deal!’

Still smiling, she leapt from the floor. In one or two steps, she was behind the sofa. There, her fingers dug into Callista’s back without any further preamble.

Soon, each knot in her back capitulated under Roselinde’s skill, because she hadn’t lied: she _was_ good. Her touch was strong, yet delicate, both painful and pleasant. Callista’s shoulders were dropping, her neck wasn’t so stiff, even her breathing was calmer. As each of her worries melted away, fatigue made its presence known. She leaned back and hit Roselinde’s cushioned breasts. She opened her eyes and did not dare move: it would call even more attention to the situation.

‘Don’t worry, Mistress, I won’t tell anybody. Just close your eyes. Let me take care of you.’

Her curiosity wouldn’t let her follow those instructions, so she looked up, wanting to know Roselinde’s expression. And she could have dealt with rejection, with boredom, even with disgust. But she could not deal with a caring ethereal smile and tender eyes. She could not deal with kindness. Abruptly, she stood up from the sofa, fixed her skirts, and tried to regain her composure.

‘This has been quite enough. You can leave now.’

Her voice was steady and she managed to look at Roselinde without wavering. The girl put down her hands. ‘You… I did… You will still teach me to read?’

‘Of course I will. I promise.’ She began walking out of the room, turning her back on Roselinde, who was still fixed in place, still stunned into silence. When she reached the door, she spoke again but she didn’t dare to look back. ‘And, Roselinde — you were very kind today. I thank you most sincerely.’

Before Roselinde could speak — she didn’t know what she’d do if Roselinde spoke —, she closed the door behind her.

This time, when she reached her room, she succumbed to temptation. She leaned against the door, hitched up her skirt, and soon, her fingers were stroking her most secret of places. It did not take long before a vile thrill rode up her body, making her writhe and sob. But it was over as quickly as it had begun. She fell to her knees, still sobbing.

It was a long time before she stopped.

The heat in Veridian had a way of making any choice but indolence unthinkable. And never more than in days like these, when a storm would muster on the horizon and yet never break. So they still had to shoulder the humidity, praying for a respite that never came. This was, however, no excuse for Elodie’s constant interruptions of her reading. Even if the book was a rather dry tome on the fauna of Cape Quietness, it was still informative.

Elodie raised her eyes from her reading, for the fifteenth time. ‘Miss Callista, are you well? You look very tired.’

Were her sleepless nights wreaking such havoc in her looks? Or was Elodie just grasping at straws, searching for a way out of her classes? It was irrelevant: Callista had made a promise to Elodie’s mother and she intended to keep it. The girl couldn’t be allowed to become yet another indulgent Veridian.

‘I am well, yes. Elodie, please continue reading.’

Elodie’s sigh was worthy of an Umbran songstress, but she did follow Callista’s instructions and began reading aloud again. Her droning tone couldn’t hold Callista’s attention, especially not when Roselinde kept flitting about in the hallway. Jeanette was certainly working her hard: many rooms in the house had not been properly cleaned in months. A week in, Roselinde was finally done with the first floor rooms but had yet to make a dent in the second. She was busy sweeping the hallway but that was not what bothered Callista. One of her stockings had fallen almost down to her calf and it was driving Callista mad. Sometimes she was so heedless! No matter how many times Callista pointed out the correct way of wearing her uniform, Roselinde made at least three mistakes every day. Incorrigible. She rose from her chair and stomped towards the open door.

‘Miss Callista?’ Elodie asked. ‘Are we done?’

There was still some time before tea and she did not want Elodie idle. Idleness was fertile ground for sinister fantasies. ‘Oh. Just… copy one of the illustrations. They’re rather pretty.’

‘And I don’t have to read it?’

‘Oh, really, Elodie? We both know that book could bore one to death.’

She stepped out into the hallway and slammed the door shut. Her cheeks reddened when she heard Elodie’s giggles. Fine. She’d let her make fun, for once. What mattered now was finding Roselinde.  
She tried the first empty bedroom, then the second, and finally found Roselinde in the third one. Whoever had furnished it had a flair of the dramatic. The bed and its heavy brocade curtains retained some of its baroque attraction, despite the dust sprinkling the air and the mould devouring the antique wallpaper. The rest of the furniture, however, was a mere carcass of luxury long gone.

But Roselinde had opened the windows, so the sunlight and a fresh sea breeze brought the old furniture and the faded paintings back to life. Roselinde was humming while she worked, as she always did. It was a rustic habit, but one Callista found oddly disarming. She never recognized the songs, but they echoed of running down hills in the summer, the smell of freshly cut grass, and picking up juicy berries by the handful. And Roselinde enjoyed it with her whole body. Even now, she was dancing as she swept: her hands curled on the handle of the broom as if she were caressing a lover, her hips swaying from side to side.

She only stopped when Callista closed the door again.

‘Oh, Mistress. Do you need anything from me?’

And she had the gall to ask, when the offending stocking was now bunched around her ankle. She would have to fix it, but she wasn’t going to kneel on the floor, not with all its rotten floorboards.

‘Sit on the bed.’

There was no resistance, no questions, just quick obedience. Sitting on the bed, she was a perfect picture of prim innocence: her knees pushed together, her hands on her lap, her eyes downcast.

‘Is it the stocking?’

‘You know perfectly well it is the stocking. How many times do I have to punish you before you understand?’, she said, as she crossed the room in a few quicks steps. ‘Now raise your leg.’

As she did, Roselinde leaned back on the bed. Her skin was still flushed from her work, there was dust all over her, and her braid was coming undone. As always, Callista couldn’t think it repulsive. It was instead enchanting: the dark hair spilling down the back, the skirt riding up, the laughing eyes, the bosom rising and falling with each breath. Callista took Roselinde’s shoe off and then she stroked Roselinde’s calf as she dragged the stocking up — surely that was acceptable, surely that could not be objectionable. Once the stocking was right above Roselinde’s knee, she tied the ribbon tightly, without taking her eyes off Roselinde’s prone body.

‘Please do it properly next time,’ she said. Roselinde’s small perfect foot still rested against Callista’s chest. One of her hands curled around it, while the other hand slid further up Roselinde’s leg. ‘And it brings me no pleasure, but I must punish you.’

Roselinde’s thighs were as voluptuous as the rest of the body. The silky skin was hot and wet, but it did not disgust Callista. She squeezed the skin between her fingers and twisted.

‘Yes, Mistress.’ Roselinde panted. ‘Th-thank you.’

At least somebody appreciated her efforts. As a reward or as a reminder, she wasn’t entirely sure, she pinched the supple flesh again. This time, the pain was so great Roselinde’s back arched. Her breasts came out of her dress, but Roselinde made no gesture to cover them. Her nipples were hard, and the faint scent of mint hung in the air.

‘Roselinde! Again?’

‘I cannot help it, Mistress.’

‘I have half a mind to let you work like that.’

‘If you think it’s appropriate, I’ll do it, Mistress.’

She was weak and could not avoid imagining the scene. Roselinde moving around the house with her breasts out like some common whore, letting Callista feast on the sight just like she was doing now. Callista’s hands acted faster than her mind: she slapped Roselinde’s left breast. It shook with the force of the impact and Roselinde gasped.

Callista took a step back, horrified at her own behaviour.

‘Stop talking nonsense. Get dressed and go back to work.’

She turned around, determined to leave the room.

‘Of course, Mistress. Whatever you say, I’ll do.’

Such innocence. If Roselinde knew what Callista yearned for… she wouldn’t be saying such reckless things.

With the utmost effort, she returned to the library. Elodie, surprisingly, was still immersed in copying the birds. The sunset brought up all the copper undertones of her dark hair and concentration suit her face well.

‘Oh, Miss Callista. I’m almost done,’ she said and showed her sketchbook to Callista.

Her drawings were fluid and vivid, even if not exactly accurate. More of an impression of a bird than a careful illustration. Callista wondered how she’d fare with real life models. Elodie had always been a keen, talented artist, but Lady Augusta had been very clear: her daughter was to learn how to be a lady. A competent handling of watercolors was one thing; a true interest in art was another one entirely.

‘You’re very skillful,’ she said. She wouldn’t encourage Elodie’s creative pursuits, but she wouldn’t lie either.

‘Thank you, Miss Callista.’

‘Now, tell me the specifics of each species of bird. I assume you did read the descriptions.’

Obviously, Elodie hadn’t. Callista was not angry — her instructions had been unclear, after all — so they focused on remedying that. She suspected Lady Augusta wouldn’t care much for natural science either, but at least it wasn’t art.

They hadn’t made much progress when the door opened. She raised her eyes and saw Roselinde standing there with a tray. Tea time, then.

‘Well, this means our work for the day is over then,’ Callista said, looking again at Elodie’s drawings. ‘Leave the tea on the table, please.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

Roselinde put the tray on the table and stood there, clasping her hands on her lap. Her uniform was spotless now and her posture exuded obedience. What if she tested that obedience? Would it prove genuine? Or was it all a sham? Wicked plans arose in her mind: pushing a debased Roselinde to the brink, to a point where she’d beg for mercy and release, where lies would be impossible. She took a deep breath, wishing away whatever that was.

‘Where is the tea?’ she asked, noticing for the first time that Jeanette had sent them a crystal jar filled with a bright green liquid.

‘Jeanette said it was too hot for that. So she sent lemonade.’

As much as Callista wished to instill Valette customs into Elodie, it was true that hot tea was ludicrous during a Veridian summer. She served herself a glass and took a sip. Instead of the stolid sweetness of her usual tea, it was fragrant and light, with a touch of honey and a strong mint aftertaste. Her eyes wandered to Roselinde’s chest, and she remembered the small pouch she kept there. Did Roselinde’s skin smell like this?

‘Come on, Elodie, drink. It’s very refreshing.’

Her mouth suddenly dry and heat spreading through her limbs, she gulped down the lemonade. The flavour flooded her mouth. Did Roselinde’s skin _taste_ like this, so lovely and intense? How would it feel to lick it, to bite down until it bled? The mere image of a crying Roselinde, with her beautiful breasts bitten and swollen, awoke a ferocious need so beyond words she didn’t even know what would sate it.

‘You can… you can leave now, Roselinde.’

The girl curtsied but did not leave. ‘Mistress, tonight…’

Callista set down the glass with such force that the tray clattered against the table. Roselinde was startled and Elodie was biting her lip. Probably about to laugh, then. Insolent child.

‘What about tonight?’

‘My class. Will it be here?’

The reading classes. Of course. She had forgotten how excited Roselinde was to start with them. ‘Oh, no. In my private parlor. I will wait for you there.’

‘The reading classes?’ Elodie asked. ‘You haven’t started yet?’

‘How do you know about them?’

‘Oh, Roselinde… told me. Was it supposed to be a secret?’

That was surprising. She would have to keep an eye on those two. A sense of camaraderie was helpful, but complicity could become a problem. ‘Of course not. There is nothing secret about teaching an eager pupil.’

‘It’s very generous of you, Miss Callista.’

‘I wouldn’t say so. Education should be provided to anybody, regardless of their origins. I am merely doing my part.’

‘You truly think so? Wouldn’t it be wasted on the lower classes?’

She glanced at Roselinde — she was still staring at the floor, but her knuckles were white and her jaw was tense. Elodie, of course, was unaware of the insult tied to her words: her only expression was a slight confused frown. Children who were born to fortune and raised in privilege were always so carelessly cruel as if their servants were emotionless automatons.

‘If somebody’s origin determined how much they would benefit from education, we would not have to endure such a plague of tittering young ladies with air for brains. No dashing young heir would lead his family to ruin.’ If Lady Augusta were to hear her say such things… She would be fired, for sure. But she wasn’t there, was she? Roselinde was now looking at her, a smile blossoming on her lips. ‘Waste? I would say that we waste many brilliant intellects, trapped in squalor, with no future to speak of.’

It was apparent when what the implications of what she had said dawned on Elodie: she took a hand to her chest and turned to look at Roselinde.

‘Oh, Roselinde, I did not mean… I truly did not mean anything by what I said.’

Wanting to avoid a pitiful scene of schoolgirl dramatics, Callista put her hand over Elodie’s and spoke. ‘It is all right. You did not mean it unkindly. You should…’

Before she could finish talking, Roselinde marched towards the table and grabbed the tray, with none of her usual perky grace. Callista let go of Elodie’s hand, surprised. Was she that hurt by Elodie’s words? Were they that close already?

‘I will come here tonight, Mistress,’ she said, before turning around and leaving the room in a huff.

‘Well, that was unexpected. You will apologize to her later, Elodie. She might be a maid, but she’s worthy of your respect.’

Elodie titled her head. ‘Do you really think she’s angry _at me_?’

‘I have done nothing to inspire that, so… yes?’

‘… If you believe so, Miss Callista, I will apologize to her later.’

Callista hoped Elodie’s misstep had not soured Roselinde’s mood too irrevocably. What if she missed her class? It was already very late: the moon was high in the sky. Outside, the city was silent but for the ruckus of wine and lust escaping from the inn across the street. ‘Inn’. Only a newborn babe would believe that’s what it was.

She would wait half an hour, but not more than that. A small pile of books lay before her: both the ones she thought Roselinde would enjoy and the simplest ones she had been able to find in the library. None fit her purpose entirely, but it was better than nothing.

Five minutes before the half an hour was up, Roselinde finally arrived.

‘I’m sorry, Mistress. I had to wash the dishes.’

That explained how wet the top of her dress was. So wet the fabric clung to her skin and the outline of her nipples was visible, even when she was standing so far.

‘It is no matter. Please sit down, Roselinde,’ she said, patting the space next to her.

The girl dragged her feet across the room. Her smile was as cheery as ever, but she yawned when she sat down and then again when Callista picked one of the books at random.

‘Are you tired? We can leave this for another day.’

Roselinde opened her mouth to speak but another yawn came out instead. ‘Oh, Mistress, I’m so sorry. But the day was so long and the work was so hard, I can barely stay awake.’

‘Then don’t. I will read to you if you want. You seemed to… to enjoy the reading the other day.’ But probably not enough to stay awake when she was that tired. ‘Or you can just go to sleep, of course.’

‘Oh, no, I’ll stay. It sounds nice.’

Roselinde rested her head on Callista’s shoulder. It was likely inappropriate, but she was so exhausted Callista couldn’t bear to move her. Instead, she opened the book on the first page and started reading, in a soft voice. The words were comforting: an old poetry anthology about lovers meeting in shaded groves and young girls with flowers on their hair.

Her hand went around Roselinde’s waist and brought her closer. The weight of her body next to her and her calm breathing were so soothing, a balm to Callista’s usual jitters and woes. She was asleep now, Callista thought, so she rested the book on her lap and turned around to look at Roselinde’s face. Her expression was vulnerable and endearing. With one tremulous hand, Callista caressed her cheek, stroked her full lips, and followed the curve of her neck. When she rested her hand against Roselinde’s chest, the girl’s lilac eyes opened suddenly.

‘Mistress?’

Callista withdrew her hand. ‘I… I was checking if you were asleep.’

‘I was. Your voice is very sweet, did you know? I could listen to you forever.’

‘I… did not.’ It was so strange, to be complimented so tenderly. ‘Maybe it’s time we go to our rooms. It is very late, after all.’

Roselinde nodded and together they walked to the door. Before leaving the room, Roselinde stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to Callista’s cheek. A trifling touch, over as quickly as it had begun, but nevertheless, Callista’s heart raced.

‘Thank you, Mistress.’

She went up to her room then, still yawning with each step. It took everything in Callista not to follow her up the stairs and into her bed.


End file.
